


The Point Sometimes

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Lingerie, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 03:37:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7997173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the idea first comes up between them, they laugh about it and dismiss it. Then a few days later, Aramis walks into the kitchen wearing lingerie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Point Sometimes

**Author's Note:**

> JL gave me a prompt like... a year ago? and what she asked for was, "Aramis topping with frilly underwear and fishnets on."  
> A few specifics that I won't go into here so you can instead ~discover~ them, but I do hit all the requests hopefully. Ehehe.

The way it happens is like this—

One of them first brings up the idea, nothing more than a joking consideration, and they laugh about it – not out of cruelty or malice, but genuine delight. That kind of laughter that shakes Aramis’ stomach until it aches, the kind that leaves Porthos hiccupping. Aramis presses to Porthos post-sex and giggles against his jaw, lips parted into a pleased smile – _Oh, but imagine if—_. Porthos nuzzles against his hair, lips curving against the shell of his ear. They laugh about it for several minutes until Aramis can’t breathe and Porthos’ cheeks are red and warm against Aramis’ shoulder. 

And then once the laughter dims, they both look at each other. The transition is seamless when Porthos asks, “But seriously. Want to?” 

Aramis’ eyes darken with the possibility and he hums out, shifting so that he’s sitting up, hitching his leg over Porthos’ hips and settling so he’s straddling him. He runs his hands down his chest and says, “Mm. I think I do.” 

It takes some imagination that first time, as they didn’t _have_ any of the materials readily available. It becomes more of an expression of interest: discussing how it would feel, what it would look like. They always were good at the fantasy element, and so envisioning silk, straps, the spread of fabric over their fingertips, is a simple fantasy to maintain. Porthos slides his hands over Aramis’ naked thighs and describes the catch of fabric there. Aramis confesses to the overwhelming desire to feel Porthos’ mouth against the silk-satin. 

They get off like that, Aramis rocking down against him, their cocks sliding together and Porthos’ hands on him – Aramis comes across Porthos’ stomach with a muffled moan and Porthos arches up, coming after a few generous strokes from Aramis’ hand. 

And once Aramis collapses on Porthos’ chest, tracing his fingertips over his collarbone, he says, “I’ll look into it tomorrow morning.” 

“Sounds good,” Porthos sighs back. 

 

-

 

After that, the matter, it seems, is completely forgotten. At least for about a week.

 

-

 

A few days after a week has passed, though, Porthos is quartering potatoes, about ready to dredge them with olive oil and rosemary to roast when he hears Aramis walk into the kitchen behind him, footsteps clipped and practical. 

“Oh good, you’re here, can you—” he starts, turning – 

—and then freezes.

Aramis stands in entranceway to the kitchen, wearing black fishnets and a pair of red silk underwear, leaning against the doorway with a hand purposefully poised at his hip. It’s a completely false pose – something Aramis likely practiced before walking in here. But damn if it doesn’t work. Aramis grins at him. 

“Oh,” Porthos says, an absurdly abortive sound. 

“ _Oh_ is not really what I was going for here, my dear,” Aramis says, but he’s grinning more – wide and toothy. 

Porthos laughs, and it startles him just how breathless and unlike himself it sounds – graveled and husky. He very carefully sets down his knife and goes to the sink, washing his hands free of the olive oil. Aramis watches him carefully, not leaving his spot. Porthos doesn’t take his eyes off him until he has his hands dry. 

He moves towards him. Aramis grins wide, delighted, and straightens from his leaning position against the doorframe. 

He holds out his hands on either side of himself and does a little spin before Porthos can get to him. He waggles his eyebrows. “So,” he asks, “What do you think?” 

“I didn’t – I hadn’t realized you’d be this quick about it,” Porthos says, and laughs again when Aramis bats his eyelashes and places his hands on Porthos’ shoulders, smoothing his fingertips over the worn tee-shirt he’s wearing. 

“I’m very thorough,” Aramis says, prim and proper, “You know that.” 

“Definitely,” Porthos says. He grins. “I like the red.” 

“I trust it doesn’t look too ridiculous,” Aramis says, laughing. He swivels his hips a bit in a frankly ridiculous way that is still strangely sexy, and Porthos ducks his head to watch and they both laugh at the absurdity of it all. Aramis is already getting hard. It’s vastly encouraging and Porthos pointedly slides his hands down Aramis’ sides. 

“No,” Porthos says, voice strained. “No, you always look good.” 

Aramis touches his cheek and pats it until Porthos looks up at him again. 

“I’m sure you can guess the intention’s for you to touch, not just look,” Aramis says, not laughing now – although amusement touches at his eyes. Porthos snorts out a small, disbelieving laugh and Aramis shakes his head, not able to muffle his grin. He looks bright and silly, both of them laughing and feeling a little delirious from it. This isn’t unlike the first time they ever told each other fantasies and acted on them. They still laugh together about the one time they roleplayed a scene from Porthos’ favorite movie (and the bedroom door still needs a little coaxing to shut ever since Porthos nearly busted a hinge kicking it in) or when Aramis admitted to wanting to be fucked in front of someone (and sometimes d’Artagnan still goes red if they flirt too hard in front of him). These sorts of things are natural to them. But it never stops being exciting. 

 

-

 

And now—

“Let me get the oven off,” Porthos says and turns away, stepping away from the circle of Aramis’ arms.

Aramis sighs and fidgets, fiddling with the edge of the underwear so it sits on his hip better, then fiddles with the strap that holds the fishnet stocking up on his left leg. 

“You’re far too practical. You’re supposed to be ravishing me right now.” 

“I’m not fucking you on the kitchen table if that’s what you think. You have to get me drunk before I do that. And clean the table,” Porthos snorts, canceling the oven’s preheating setting and turning back towards Aramis. He strides forward and runs his hands down the back of Aramis’ thighs and then hitches him up. Aramis laughs out in surprise and hops up so he can wrap his legs around Porthos’ waist. 

“God, I love it when you carry me,” Aramis tells him, face flushed. 

Porthos laughs and starts kissing him. He pushes Aramis up against the wall and Aramis whines out happily, kissing him back sloppily. 

“Well,” Aramis moans, arms around Porthos’ neck. He moans out as Porthos turns the kiss filthy. “Oh fuck,” he gasps between bites and kisses, “Bed. Now.” 

Porthos does not need much convincing and carries him about halfway to the doorway before he has to set him down so they can both stumble together in that direction, hand-in-hand. Aramis’ feet slide a little on the hardwood floors (“Now I get why people wear the shoes too,” he says around a snicker when he nearly topples them both down against a doorjamb). 

 

-

 

Inside their room, then. Aramis closes the door behind them and turns to grin at Porthos.

Porthos is already reaching for him. They kiss, hurried and messy. Aramis moans out quietly as Porthos runs his hands down his back and over his ass, groping over the silk and pulling him in closer so they press together. 

Porthos remembers this from their fantasy – the feel of the silk against his palms, the slide of his hands over the curve of Aramis’ ass. He fondles, blatantly – manhandles him for the pleasure of touching him, of prolonged and lingering touch. Aramis’ breath hitches, quiet and secured. 

“Wait, wait,” Aramis gasps out, breaking the kiss long enough to yank Porthos’ shirt off and toss it aside. He leans in and kisses Porthos again as he works at his belt, shoving his pants down and groping at him, wrapping his hand around his cock and stroking him off to full hardness as Porthos pushes him up to the door, kissing him deep. 

It all looks a little ridiculous, Porthos’ pants around his ankles, Aramis in his lingerie. But neither of them care, both smiling stupidly into the kiss, Porthos rocking up against Aramis’ hand in encouragement. 

“So how should we do this?” Aramis asks once they break the kiss, both panting a little. He squeezes around Porthos’ cock, drags his fingertips slowly over the length of him, curls around the base and squeezes. 

In protest or consideration, Porthos gropes at Aramis’ cock through the silk and Aramis shudders, bucking up against his hand in turn. 

“I remember you saying you wanted me to suck you off through these,” Porthos says. “Right?” 

“Mmmm,” Aramis whines, something of a half-answer – but the twitch of his cock giving a full enough answer against Porthos’ palm. 

“So I’ll do that,” Porthos declares, ducking his head to kiss and bite at Aramis’ neck instead. The scrape of his teeth against his skin, sucking hard at the joint between neck and shoulder. Aramis keens. 

 

-

 

And so—

Aramis lets Porthos manhandle him, turning him, pressing him back against the door. 

“Good like this?” Porthos asks, waits for Aramis’ nod, and then sinks down to his knees. He settles there, gets into a comfortable enough position, and then leans forward, dragging his mouth over Aramis’ stomach, kissing sloppily. Aramis lets out a small, throaty chuckle and drops his hands into Porthos’ hair. He doesn’t tug him along – lets Porthos move as he wishes, just curling his fingers up. 

Porthos is steady in this – kisses over Aramis’ stomach, his hips, the tops of his thighs. Then he turns his face a little, nuzzles against the sharp outline of Aramis’ cock through the silk lingerie. Aramis shudders, spreading his legs a little and tightening his hold on Porthos’ hair. But Porthos doesn’t move quicker than that, taking his time. He nuzzles once, lets the curve of Aramis’ cock slide against his cheek through the fabric, than turns his head so his mouth can drag down over it through the silk. 

“Porthos,” Aramis whispers out, encouragement and desire. 

Porthos hums out, fueled on by this, taking his time to drive Aramis through this. How many times has Aramis teased Porthos for being impatient? For not wanting to take his time? He pays for it now – Porthos taking his time, dragging his teeth over the snap of g-string connecting the fishnet to the underwear. Lips pillowing over his cock through the fabric. The slide of his tongue along the sharp jut of Aramis’ hip. It’s maddening. And he knows it. 

Aramis is not used to it, this Porthos knows. Usually it’s Aramis who will sink to his knees like this, usually Porthos who’s tortured and teased with this for what feels like an eternity. Porthos is all too happy to return the favor now – looking up at Aramis as he licks and mouths over his cock, the silk between cock and tongue. Aramis groans, encouraging still, lips parted. Porthos licks at his cock through the fabric, tongue curling at the cockhead, his hand lifting to cup and fondle his balls absently as he works. Aramis gasps out quietly, pupils blown wide, his body heaving with desire. Like this, Porthos is quite determined to take Aramis apart. 

He drags his mouth, his tongue, from base to tip, looking up at Aramis – suckles at the cockhead, feels the slide of the silk against his teeth. Aramis’ hands, shaky and clinging, curl up tight into his hair and Porthos grins, letting his cheek slide down over the front of the lingerie. 

Breathless, Aramis whispers, “Porthos… please.” 

He could continue. He could tease like this. He could keep going.

But he’s never been good at resisting Aramis, the way his lips part, the way his eyelids go heavy gazing down at him. He kisses Aramis’ hip, just to make him whimper, and then lifts his hands to drag up his thighs, hooking his fingers over the waistband of the underwear and working it down. 

Aramis breathes out a sigh when Porthos works the silk-satin down enough for the tip of his cock to peek out. Porthos rewards his patience by leaning forward and licking the bead of liquid there, lapping his tongue at the tip and curling along the curve of the head. Aramis gasps, and there’s a thump from Aramis’ head tilting back hard against the door. 

Porthos glances up at him but Aramis just shakes his head and nudges his hips forward, inviting. Porthos drags the cockhead into his mouth and suckles, all lips and tongue. Aramis murmurs his name and then trails off into a breathless moan, angling his hips up to meet Porthos. 

“God,” Aramis gasps out as, bit by bit, Porthos nudges the underwear down and swallows more of Aramis’ cock. 

It’s a slow process. Slow and torturing, Porthos knows – but he knows how to drive Aramis wild like this, knows how to drag him close to the edge and tip him over if he wants. He wants to make it last, though. Swallows down around his cock and drags his fingertips along the base. Aramis’ body arches and bows, taut one moment and relaxing the next. He trusts, just lets Porthos move as he needs to – swallows down around him, drinks him in, slides his tongue over him. 

“Please,” Aramis shudders. “Please. Porthos, I need—”

Porthos rises to his feet, lifts himself up and kisses him sloppily. Aramis whimpers and then moans when Porthos hitches him up, picking him up in his arms, hands cupping his ass and pressing him hard to the wall again. They kiss slow and sloppy and Porthos hopes that Aramis can taste himself on Porthos’ tongue. 

 

-

 

Pressing Aramis down against the bed, fetching the oil, moving up over him. 

Aramis reaches obediently for the lube, practiced, but Porthos shakes his head. Says, “Let me.” 

And then popping the cap of the lube and slicking his fingers up and then pressing a finger inside himself. Aramis’ eyes fly open and he bites down hard at his lip. 

 

-

 

Three fingers inside himself, Porthos shifts up onto his knees over Aramis, one arm braced against the bed to support himself. His hand works back behind him, fingers oiled and inside as he fucks himself open. He bites at his lip, hears the way Aramis sucks in a sharp breath watching him – and when he opens his eyes, Aramis is staring at him. Hungry, open – unrelenting in his gaze. 

Aramis smiles at him, panting a little as he watches him. He lifts his hands, run them down Porthos’ chest. Then he shifts, sits up a little, lets his hand drag down Porthos’ back before slipping one finger inside of Porthos alongside Porthos’ own fingers.

Porthos ducks his head and groans, his entire body shuddering. 

“You always look so beautiful like this,” Aramis says, because they are always the sentimental fools. Porthos huffs an embarrassed laugh, but takes his fingers out and lets Aramis work him open instead. And Aramis does – steady and easily, his fingers sliding up inside him and curling. Aramis sits up enough to kiss Porthos’ neck, the underside of his chin, his breath warm and damp against his skin. 

Aramis is gentle but diligent when it comes to preparing Porthos, moving swift and with liberal amounts of oil. He takes his time, but there’s an air of desperation to them both – a desire to hurry, a desire to have this. 

It isn’t long after that, Aramis drawing his hands away. Porthos pops the cap for Aramis, helps pour the oil against his fingertips and along the line of his cock. Aramis shivers at the chill, body shuddering, and Porthos slicks him up – stroking his hand around his cock, merciless in his strokes, squeezing hard at the base when Aramis’ breaths take on that throaty, desperate plea.

“You’re coming inside me or not at all,” Porthos tells him, his voice heavy. Aramis whines out and lurches forward to kiss him hard, scrambling to get closer. Porthos strokes his cock, squeezing again, his fingertips brushing along the lip of Aramis’ lingerie, the curve of his cock, the slide of his balls, the flex of his hip. Aramis whimpers out, coming closer. Porthos kisses him hard, sucks at his bottom lip, drags his teeth across his tongue – kissing him until they can’t breathe. 

Porthos leans back, shifts a little – and pushes Aramis down onto his back. He crawls up after him, leaning down to kiss him again. Balanced on his arm, he shimmies his hips forward, drags his body down along Aramis’ cock as he gets himself into position. Porthos’ hand drags up over Aramis’ thigh, catches at the fishnet, the jags of Porthos’ nails making Aramis shudder. 

His hand shifts, taking Aramis’ cock in hand, and he moves up so that his cockhead presses up against him. Aramis holds his breath – Porthos can see the way his chest swells and then stills. 

“You ready?” Porthos asks. 

“Shouldn’t I ask you that?” Aramis answers, his smile wide and toothy. He drags his hand up to touch at Porthos’ chest and then his arm, touch lingering. “God. You’re so beautiful.” 

Porthos laughs again, blushing, and ducks his head with a small breath as he slowly sinks himself down against Aramis’ cock. He squirms a little, adjusts, waits, and adjusts some more. It’s been a while since he’s done this, in the end, and he’s out of practice. 

“Fuck,” Aramis breathes out. That means he’s ready for Porthos to move, as soon as Porthos is ready. 

 

-

 

A slow rocking. The slow slide. Feeling overfull and overstretched and heavy with love and desire. It’s always like this. Porthos wonders if he’ll always feel so sappy like this, looking at Aramis as he comes apart for Porthos – as Porthos comes apart for him.

Rolling his hips slow, feeling the girth of Aramis’ cock, the curve of him, the slide of his body against his. 

Porthos braces his hands behind him, steady against Aramis’ thighs. Slides slowly. The fishnet catches. One of the holes rips into another one when it gets too caught on Porthos’ hands, but it hardly matters. He covets that feeling – the luxury of it, the feeling of the silk Aramis still wears pressing against his body when Aramis is balls-deep inside him. The way his body trembles, shudders, moving against Aramis like he was made to do this. Like it hasn’t been that long at all.

“You feel so good,” Porthos murmurs, tracing the lines of the fishnets, the strap connecting it to the underwear, the bunching of it across the top of Aramis’ thighs. 

Aramis has limited mobility, but that hardly stops him. He thrusts up to meet Porthos, drags his hands down his chest. “You too,” he gasps out. “God, it’s been so long—”

Rolling his hips up to feel him. Sliding down to meet him. Moving together. Aramis moans. Porthos ducks his head, bites his lip in concentration, and squeezes around him. 

 

-

 

“Can I come?” Aramis asking and Porthos shaking his head, sliding the cock out of him and shifting their positions. Pulling Aramis up so he can fuck into him laid out across his back, so he can reach back and grope his ass, feel the flex of his muscles in his thighs as he grips at the fishnets to pull him forward. 

Aramis, rocking hard into him, gasping out against the back of his neck, the sweat clinging to them. Aramis’ hands soft against him, gentle, holding him close as he fucks into him. 

 

-

 

It dissolves—

It’s a slow torture, dragging Aramis closer and closer still, pressing deep inside of Porthos – a steady, sure pace. The scrape of the fishnets against his skin. The silk kiss of the lingerie. Aramis’ hands against his ribs, his chest, touching at his cock and stroking him in time to the thrusts. Porthos wishing he had fishnet on his hands so he could feel the drag there, too. 

Turning his head as best he can until Aramis understands the silent question – leans in and kisses him slow and sloppy, rolling his hips and gasping against his teeth when Porthos squeezes against him and rocks back hard. 

“Porthos,” Aramis gasping into the kiss, “I won’t last. Please—”

Porthos gripping him by the back of the thigh so he presses into him up to the hilt. Says, “Come on. I’ve got you.” 

And feeling the flex of his muscles, the drag of the fabric, and hearing Aramis’ low moan as he comes deep inside of Porthos. 

 

\- 

 

Collapsed, after the fact, Aramis cuddles up to Porthos and they settle there. It’s quiet, save for their breathing, which slowly evens out as their hearts stop racing. 

Aramis traces his fingertips over Porthos’ chest, sighing out. 

They could have easily stayed like that for the rest of the afternoon. But Porthos breathes out, hums, and scratches his nails up Aramis’ back until he keens. 

Then Porthos asks, “So. Did you get a pair for me, too?”

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on [my tumblr.](http://stardropdream.tumblr.com/)


End file.
